


it's the only way to live

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [31]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 15:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14696931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: “...What is going on?”The crowd around her throws their arms up into the air. A few poppers go off somewhere and Nicole’s leg twitches.“Surprise!”





	it's the only way to live

**Author's Note:**

> May 2001: Life and death collide when Nicole and co. celebrate a birthday and a funeral on the same day.
> 
> A happy happy birthday to comelayinmybed - you have some killer friends and I hope your day is just as clutch.

**“Cars” Gary Numan, 1979  
** _ Here in my car, I feel safest of all. I can lock all my doors. It’s the only way to live, in my car. _

Nicole is turning onto Cypress Street when her car kicks. A feeling rumbles under her seat, up through her arms, and into her wrists and fingers, locked around the steering wheel. The whole car jerks forward and then backwards. The tape in the deck fades out and Nicole curses - it’s her Crowded House  _ Together Alone _ tape that she just got, and she hasn’t listened to the whole thing yet. When the sound comes back, the notes are warped and she curses again.

The Bonneville kicks again, and there’s a hard grinding noise from somewhere under her feet. She can smell hot rubber, and she flips on her blinker, trying to get to the side of the road as the car starts to slow. 

“No, no, no,” she says over and over again. She can see Cal’s Corner just a few hundred meters away, and she jams her foot down against the gas, trying to get the car to keep moving forward. “Come on, baby. Just a little more.”

She gets the car to the curbside, but it creeps to a stop before she gets to Cal’s. It sputters a few times, coughing like Cecil Wright, Jr. - Nicole keeps telling him he needs to stay away from cigarettes - and something rattles, like loose change in her pocket. 

The song cuts off, and there’s nothing but a soft hiss coming from the front of the car.

Nicole sighs and gets out of the car, lifting the hood.

Steam rushes up at her, and she swings her hand back and forth, trying to clear the air. She peers down into the engine, and shakes her head. “I have no idea what I’m looking at,” she grumbles.

She swings her keys around on her finger, debating het options. “Just one try,” she decides, getting back behind the wheel. “Come on, baby,” she mutters under her breath, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. 

She turns the key and the engine sputters, but doesn’t catch. She tries a second time, and then a third, but each time is the same: it spits and crackles and sizzles, but nothing sparks.

“ _ Shit _ ,” she hisses. She gets out of the car and slams the hood shut, walking the rest of the way to Cal’s, checking her pocket for enough change to make a phone call.

The phone booth door is off its hinges, and it takes a few hard shoulders to open it. Nicole rubs absently at her arm as she drops a few coins into the slot, listening to the dial tone in her ear. The lettering on the phone is fading, the numbers barely readable from the sun and wind and rain. It’s the last phone booth standing in Purgatory, and Nicole thinks that Cal keeps it just because he likes the look of it.

Nicole isn’t sure why. The glass is scratched and fogged over from moisture getting in between the seal. The door doesn’t work well. The inside is covered in graffiti. Nicole kicks at the bottom panel of the wall gently. It still says  _ Tommy is a DINK _ in faded black lettering, and  _ Hotbox! _ just above it. People have gotten creative over the years, leaving phone numbers and drawing anatomically incorrect body parts. Nicole tips her head to the side, reading a long line of black and red ink:  _ Eat less ham, do more pushups. _

Nicole frowns.  _ Kids _ , she thinks.

She punches in the number for the garage, tapping the glass impatiently as she waits for someone to pick up. The line clicks and Nicole straightens up.

“Bustillos and Holliday Motors,” someone says lazily.

“Moses? It’s Nicole.”

“Oh, hey, Officer Haught,” Moses says, a little more awake. “What’s up, dawg?”

Nicole pulls the phone away from her ear and frowns. “Uh, is Doc there?” she asks. 

“Sure is. Want me to get him?”

Nicole rubs at the back of her neck, looking at her car. “Can you send him out to Cal’s? With the tow truck?”

Moses snorts on the other end of the line, trying to cover it up with a cough. “The Bonneville acting up?” he asks.

“It’s not doing  _ anything _ ,” Nicole says tightly.

“Like run?” Moses asks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he adds quickly. “It’s just, I told you the last time you brought it in that-”

“That it’s twenty-two years old and it won’t run forever, even if I have taken care of it so well,” Nicole parrots. “I got it, thank you, Moses.”

Moses laughs. “I mean, come on, Officer Haught. That car is almost as old as you are.”

“No it’s not,” Nicole says quickly. “I’m thirty, you know.”

_ Thirty today _ , she thinks to herself.

Moses whistles. “Wow. You’re old.”

“Moses, just tell Doc to get to Cal’s,” Nicole says sharply. She hangs up the phone, slamming it into its cradle harder than she needs to.

She pushes out of the phone booth and marches back to her car, standing in front of it with her arms folded over her chest.

"Worst birthday  _ ever _ ,” she sighs.

 

-

Nicole checks her Casio again, still a little thrown off every time she looks down expecting her DW-6500 only to find something else.

“A Heavenly High DW-9005V G-Shock,” Nicole had read, thumbing through the manual at breakfast.

Waverly smiled widely. “What do you think?”

Nicole turned the watch over in her hand. It was blue, instead of black, with a double-velcro woven band. The display was different than her DW-6500, but she kind of liked the way the date and the time was divided. “I love it,” she said, leaning over her coffee cup to kiss Waverly lightly.

“Happy Birthday,” Waverly said brightly, sitting back and watching as Nicole programmed her watch and put it on.

She watches the seconds pass and looks up the road again, but there’s no sign of the old tow truck Doc keeps on hand for situations like this. Nicole taps the steering wheel, humming along to All Star’s “Smash Mouth.” She grimaces and makes a note to talk to Nathan about the kind of music Hayley is listening to these days.

Nicole reaches across the car, finding the handle to the glove compartment. She slides over into the middle seat as she pulls out cassette tape after cassette tape. 

She still has Asia’s self-titled album in here, a go-to when she isn’t sure what she wants to listen to. There’s others, too, that she nearly forgot about: Motley Crüe’s  _ Girls, Girls, Girls _ , .38 Special’s  _ Special Forces _ , Journey’s  _ Frontiers _ , the old ‘Death to Love’ tape that she had shoved into the darkness of the glove box that Christmas when Waverly slid back into her car. She keeps turning them over, reading the dusty lettering. 

_ Everything moves so quickly _ , she thinks to herself.

It feels like yesterday that she was seventeen, running her hands over the Bonneville for the first time while the lady selling it counted up her money. She remembers the feeling of the keys in her hand, the cool, heavy weight of them. The engine had turned over smoothly, purring just like Doc told her it should. She had put Nathan’s old ‘ _ Built for Speed _ ’ mixtape into the tape deck, the one she made him when he bought his Eldorado, and grinned at Waverly in the passenger seat, already rolling the window down and hanging a hand out of it, wriggling her fingers in the end-of-summer breeze. The Bonneville had been pristine, then - a green bullet on the road. There wasn’t a scratch on the hood, or dog hair on the seat, or an Orange Crush stain in the trunk from a can that exploded in the heat a few years ago. 

It had been the car of her dreams. Nicole had eased the car off the lawn and onto the concrete and she was  _ free _ . 

That was thirteen years ago, though. 

Now the leather seats are cracking at the edges and the trunk hinges creak when she pulls it open. The engine is running on borrowed parts that Doc has cobbled together at the garage, and even though she waxes it once a month, there’s some rust near the back bumper she just can’t get to go away.

She shuffles through a few more tapes - Poison’s  _ Open Up and Say… Ahh! _ , REO Speedwagon’s  _ High Infidelity _ \- and stops when she’s holding the last tape in her hand - Def Leppard’s  _ Hysteria _ . 

It’s been a while since she’s listened to this one in the car; since she and Waverly have gone riding around just to take a ride.  _ There’s been no time _ , she tells herself. Nedley is up for retirement in a year or two, and he’s got her following him around, taking notes on everything and anything. Waverly’s promotion to department head last year came with a bonus, but a lot of extra responsibility.

Nicole pulls the visor above her seat down and slips out the picture tucked away behind the strap. It’s the one of her and Waverly and Hayley, just born and wrapped in a soft blue blanket. Behind it is another one, from last summer, of Waverly and Hayley - four and a mirror image of her mom - with an almost-three-year-old Alice in Waverly’s arms, her pudgy little face split wide in a smile. 

_ Everything is moving so fast _ , she thinks again.

She remembers the first time she put  _ Hysteria _ in the tape deck - how Waverly had moved closer across the seat, how Nicole’s whole body felt like it was on fire. She turns her wedding ring with her thumb - her new nervous habit after she picked her fingers raw and bloody when Bad Company announced that they were breaking up in 1999. 

She glances in the rearview mirror, eyes roaming over the fabric of the backseat.

Someone raps on her window, and Nicole nearly jumps, her hand going to her hip where her gun would be, but she’s off-duty today and there’s nothing there but the pocket of her jeans. Her heart races inside her chest, pounding hard against her ribcage, but Doc has the decency to look sorry as Nicole gets out of the car and slams the door.

“My apologies. I had assumed you would be looking for my arrival,” he says quickly. 

“I got distracted,” she huffs.

Doc holds his hat in his hands. “Shall I take a look?”

Nicole sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Yeah, could you? I know Rosita said…” She trails off. “I know Rosita said she wouldn’t last much longer.”

Doc rests his hand on the hood of the car. “She has exceeded my expectations,” he admits. “I was sure, after the last muffler replacement…”

Nicole nods. “I know. Me, too.”

“She had a good heart,” Doc says. He puts his hat back on and pops the hood, staring into the steaming engine, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Nicole kicks some loose gravel off the curbside and sits down, stretching her legs out so the back of her jeans don’t touch the ground as much. “Has,” she corrects.

Doc straightens up, giving her an apologetic smile. “I am afraid it is past tense, Nicole.”

Nicole swears under her breath. She rubs at the back of her neck and frowns at him. “But Rosita said-”

“That you had another hundred miles on her, yes,” Doc interrupts. “But her estimation was incorrect, unfortunately.” He closes the hood with a resounding  _ clank _ .

It sounds like the last shot in a 21 gun salute.

“I can tow her to the garage, if you would like,” he offers. “But her engine is expired, and I fear there is no reviving it.”

Nicole shakes her head slowly. “Can you…” She takes a deep breath. “Can you take her back home?” she asks.

Doc takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. “With honor,” he breathes out.

Nicole nods. Her stomach is rocking side to side, and she looks back at Cal’s over her shoulder. “I’m going to…” She trails off when Doc nods. “Do you want something?”

“A Crush, if you please,” he says, pulling his tow truck keys out of his pocket. He moves to the side of the flatbed, twisting the key into the box that controls the hydraulics.

Nicole watches as the flatbed moves at an angle, and waits until the end hits the ground before she walks towards Cal’s. She can’t watch Doc hook her car up and haul it onto the bed, resigning it to its fate. She shoulders open the door and listens to the bell jingle above her head, a rough  _ clack _ where the bell is bent.

Cal looks up from behind the counter, putting his newspaper down as she comes closer. “Officer Haught,” he says brightly. “Been a minute since I’ve seen you last.”

Nicole smiles apologetically. “Sorry, Cal.”

He waves her off. “Don’t apologize. I know you’re busy. All those town meetings and committees you’ve got going.” He leans forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Thank you for taking care of that… problem of mine.”

Nicole rests her elbows on the counter, mimicking the same pose she’d been in the night Cal called the station to complain about some people loitering on the sidewalk in front of his store. Nicole had parked her cruiser out front and strode into Cal’s, nodding at him as she headed back towards the cooler.

“They look high,” Cal had admitted. “They keep pooling their money and trying to buy a bag of chips. I almost just gave them a bag, but their eyes…” He shook his head sadly. “Red as those sirens of yours.”

The Highway 63 Trade had quieted for a year or two, branching out towards the East, but they weren’t bringing in the same business that small towns on a dead-end highway could bring. Nicole had noticed a spike in reports of property theft over the last few months, and Tommy Pollard had been mugged on Main Street two weeks ago, stumbling home from the town bar.

“It’s not a problem,” Nicole assures Cal.

She’d only watched the group - two women and a man, all in need of a shower - through the front windows for a minute, making small talk with Cal while he rang up her Orange Crush and her bag of Coffee Crisps. Then, on her way out the door, she’s politely reminded them of the No Loitering sign attached to the side of the building. They’d scattered easily enough after they focused enough to see her unbuttoned holster and the bright name tag on her uniform shirt. 

Cal shakes his head. “They haven’t been back. I saw them hitch a ride out of town on Champ Hardy’s truck.”

Nicole narrows her eyes. “Oh, yeah?”

Cal scoffs. “You know Champ. No common sense.”

“Right,” Nicole says distractedly.

“Hi, Officer Haught,” someone says behind her.

Nicole turns, smiling brightly at Stacy. “What’re you doing home?”

Stacy smiles back at her. “Only for the weekend. My dad came and picked up a few things, and I caught a ride back with him. I have finals next week and then I’m moving home for the summer.”

“School was good?” Nicole asks. She grabs a bag of Coffee Crisps from the display under the counter and puts them down in front of Cal, nodding to indicate that she’s going to add to her order. 

“It was mega. But actually…” She looks around the small shop and steps closer. “I had a question for you.”

Cal makes a show of going to rearrange the cartons of cigarettes on the wall behind the register.

“Everything okay?” Nicole asks.

Stacy nods. “I just… I met someone at school.” She laughs at herself nervously. “And, uh,  _ this person _ is really cool and totally out of my league, but they laugh at my jokes and we have the same taste in music and-”

“Stacy,” Nicole says kindly.

Stacy nods and takes a deep breath. “I know you made Ms. Earp a mixtape, when you were back in high school, and I was wondering if you had any advice on the best way to do it.” She rocks forward nervously. “See, I really want to impress, uh,  _ her _ ,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I can’t mess it up.”

“How… How do you know that?” Nicole asks, her throat tight.

“Ms. Earp told us,” Stacy says easily. “During our unit about leaving lasting impressions on history. She told us about how, even if Purgatory moved on and forgot all about who she was, there would always be a mixtape somewhere that showed she was loved.”

Nicole swallows hard. “She… she did?”

Stacy nods.

Nicole feels the back of her neck burning, and she makes a mental note to talk to Waverly about what she should and shouldn’t be saying in class.  _ That explains why I can’t ever find that tape _ , she thinks.  _ She’s bringing it into school _ .

“Well,” Nicole finally says. “If you want to make this… girl,” she says slowly, watching Stacy’s eyes flash excitedly. “If you want to make this girl a mixtape, find songs that  _ mean _ something.” She presses a hand over her heart. “Pick songs that you both have a connection to, or a song that reminds you of her.”

“Like you did? With ‘Waiting For A Girl Like You’?” Stacy asks.

Nicole’s stomach flops. “Uh, yeah. Exactly like that.”

Stacy smiles widely. “Okay. Thanks, Officer Haught.”

“Of course,” Nicole says weakly.

Stacy lifts an  _ Ottawa Citizen _ into the air towards Cal, sliding a few coins across the counter.

“Hey, you should stop by The Patch when you’re home for good,” Nicole says. “Waverly is going to help out a few times a week, just to keep busy, and she’d love to see you.”

Stacy’s cheeks flush red, and Nicole files her name under  _ Kids Who Have Crushes on Waverly _ . “I will. I took a history class this semester, and the teacher was a total drag compared to Ms. Earp.”

Nicole laughs softly. “She’ll like hearing that.”

The bell above the door chimes as Stacy leaves. Nicole shakes her head slowly, ignoring the grin Cal is sending her way, before she heads towards the coolers for her Orange Crush. She pulls two cans out of the case, shivering a little at the chilled air. She cradles them in one hand, closing the case with the other, and turns, jumping back a step.

“Sorry,” she says.

The man behind her startles, looking at her like he hadn’t noticed her before. 

“I’ll just…” she trails off, staring at his face. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

The man shakes his head quickly. His hair is long and shaggy, hanging past his ears. His shirt is dirty and stretched out at the collar, his neck dark with grime. There’re marks on his arms that Nicole can almost make out in the fluorescent lighting above them.

“Don’t think so,” he rasps.

His lifts his hand and pushes his hair out of his eyes, and Nicole is struck with a feeling in her stomach that screams  _ I know him _ . Maybe it’s his eyes, or maybe it’s just that she’s been going out on too many calls, prompting people to get up off the streets and into the rehab place in the city, and he looks like all the rest.

_ It’s not that _ , she thinks instantly.  _ It’s something else _ .

“My apologies,” she says slowly.

He nods sharply, and his eyes go past her, focusing on the six-packs of Molson at the bottom of the cooler case. 

Nicole keeps staring at him until he looks back at her. “Oh, sorry,” she says quickly, stepping out of his way. She walks slowly through the store, looking over her shoulder as she puts the cans up on the counter in front of Cal. “Do you know him?” she asks quietly.

Cal looks past her. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “Everyone starts to look the same after a certain age.”

Nicole hums thoughtfully and reaches into her back pocket for her wallet, but Cal waves her off.

“I might not recognize everyone who comes into my store anymore, but I can see that car of yours outside,” he says kindly. 

Nicole takes a deep breath, her stomach tightening.

“We all lose our first love sometime,” Cal continues. “Mine was a 1952 Studebaker Champion, white with chrome wheel hubs.” He sighs. “I’m sorry to see your Bonneville go.”

“Me, too,” she murmurs. She looks down at the two cans of Crush and the Coffee Crisps. “Are you sure?”

Cal nods firmly. “Go on, kid.”

Nicole cradles the sodas and her snack in one arm, pulling the door open and squinting at the sun as it hits her in the eyes. Doc has the chains up under the bumper of her car and he’s slowly inching it forward on the bed. He takes the soda gratefully, popping the tab and and draining half of it in a single pull.

“I am nearly done,” he apologizes.

“It’s okay,” Nicole says, leaning against the cab of the truck. She takes a sip of her own soda, opening her bag of Coffee Crisps and stretching her arm out to him. He accepts a few as the car goes the last few meters, settled safely in the middle of the flatbed.

Doc twists the key in the box, turning off the power to the hydraulics system. Nicole lifts her hand to her eyes, the side of her palm flat against her forehead as she squints up at her car.

“It looks holy,” she breathes out.

Doc looks up, snorting softly. “Why, in this light, it surely does.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly. “What an image to remember.”

Nicole blinks hard against the tears forming in her eyes and nods. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Doc goes to reach for the passenger door of the truck cab but Nicole beats him to it, rolling her eyes and opening it for herself. She hauls herself up into the cab while Doc rounds the front bumper. By the time Doc is climbing up next to her, she’s sliding The Clash’s  _ London Calling _ into the tape deck.

“London calling to the faraway towns. Now war is declared and battle come down,” Joe Strummer starts.

Nicole reaches over and rests her hand on Doc’s arm as he turns over the engine. “Can you… Can you take the long way home?”

Doc smiles softly. “Of course we can.”

They take the long way through Purgatory, going down the side roads and avoiding Main Street. They pass the house of the woman Nicole bought the car from. They pass by Mrs. Dray’s house, and Nicole makes a note to stop by soon. They go up and down each street, past Doc’s parents’ house and the old Pressman house. They go by Gus’s house and Nicole’s mom’s and Nathan’s place. 

The town is dying, but if Nicole closes her eyes and lets the wind blow through her hair and the sun warm her face, she can see it like it was when she was first sitting in Curtis’s truck, taking rides to listen to Wynonna’s  _ Bad Company _ tape.

Doc pulls alongside the curb as they get to Nicole’s apartment, throwing the engine in reverse so he can back the flatbed down the driveway.

“We can just leave it here for now,” Nicole sighs. “I’ll go inside and tell Waverly the news.”

Doc’s eyes flash with something Nicole doesn’t recognize. “How about you find a tarp,” he suggests, tripping over his words. “Maybe the shed will provide something fortuitous?”

Nicole makes a face, confused. “A tarp?”

“To lay her to rest,” Doc continues, fiddling with brake. He turns off the engine and looks at her expectantly.

“Doc,” she starts. “I just… I just want to go inside and tell Waverly and curl up with my  _ Built for Speed _ mixtape and pretend like a part of me hasn’t just  _ died _ .”

Doc winces. “I understand.” He still looks at her with wide, hopeful eyes - the same eyes he used to put on when he would beg her to stay for just one more game of Cops and Robbers.

“Fine,” Nicole huffs. “But  _ then _ I’m going inside.”

Doc presses his hand against his chest, two fingers tapping the against the space over his heart. “On my honor.”

Nicole slides out of the cab, her Red Wing Iron Rangers hitting the ground with a soft  _ thud _ .

“A tarp,” she mutters. It makes sense, but she hates the idea of throwing a tarp over her car and closing it off from the world. “Maybe I’ll get a carport,” she thinks out loud. “Park it in the backyard and tinker with it until it runs again.”

She rounds the side of the house, her mind racing as she plans ahead: she’ll stop by the garage and take Moses and Fletch up on those lessons they keep promising her, then maybe go car shopping in the city and see if she can find anything she likes. She won’t let Doc take the car for parts; she’ll fix it herself if she has to.

She’s so focused on thinking about her Bonneville that she doesn’t realize there’re people in the backyard until two chubby arms are wrapped around her legs and a pointed chin is digging into her knee. Nicole looks down at Hayley and frowns.

“...What is going on?”

The crowd around her throws their arms up into the air. A few poppers go off somewhere and Nicole’s leg twitches.

“Surprise!”

 

-

Nicole stares, wide-eyed. The backyard is full of people - Wynonna, Waverly, Ms. Ruthie, Nathan and Mercedes and Hayley, Rosita, Dolls and Jeremy, Chrissy and Perry, Nedley, Linda and Cub, her mom, Gus - waving streamers and smiling widely. Styx barks madly until Nedley quiets him.

“It’s your thirtieth birthday, old lady,” Wynonna says. She claps Nicole hard on the shoulder.

“You’re older than me,” Nicole says absently. “What… What is this?”

“Your birthday party,” Waverly says, elbowing Wynonna out of the way. “Surprise,” she adds, shimmying her shoulders. She frowns when Nicole doesn’t smile. “What’s wrong?”

Nicole shakes her head.

Wynonna moves in closer. “Is it your car?” she asks. “Doc took so long because he was here and then he had to go to the garage to get the tow and-”

“Yes,” Nicole says roughly. “It’s my car, okay.”

Waverly makes a face at Wynonna, pushing her away. She winds her arm through Nicole’s, her fingers brushing the inside of Nicole’s wrist. “Baby,” she starts.

“I know,” Nicole says, her body stiff. “It’s a car. It’s just a car.”

Waverly is quiet for a minute. “No. I was going to say, ‘I’m sorry your car died.’ I’m especially sorry it died on your birthday.” She kisses Nicole’s arm, her forehead against Nicole’s shoulder. “I know how much you loved that car.”

“Love,” Nicole says firmly. “I’m going to get it to work again.”

Waverly gives her a sad smile. “Honey…”

“No, Waves,” Nicole says. She straightens her shoulders and untangles herself from Waverly. “I’m going to fix it, okay? On weekends and days off.” She twists her wedding band around her finger. “It’ll run again.”

“Happy Birthday,” her mom shouts, throwing her arms around Nicole’s neck. “My baby is so grown up.”

“Mom,” Nicole complains.

Waverly takes another step back, making space for people to flood Nicole. They wish her happy birthday and someone presses a cold beer into her hand. There’s music, and Hayley is leading Alice around the yard, laughing whenever Alice tips over. 

She says hi to Linda and Cub, watching curiously as Cub pushes his hair - slightly longer now that he’s older and has more freedom to do what he wants - out of his eyes. She teases him about the Nirvana shirt he’s wearing, and he shies away from her, his eyes on a girl Nicole sort of recognizes across the lawn. She loops her arm around his neck, pulling him into a loose chokehold.

“Remember,” she starts.

“Treat people with respect, and always double-check your locks,” he recites.

Nicole pulls back, feigning surprise. “How did you know I was going to say that.”

Cub rolls his eyes. “You’ve been saying it for the last ten years,” he complains.

She elbows him gently. “Well, I mean it.” 

They both watch Linda move across the lawn towards Ms. Ruthie. She walks slower now, since her fall this winter, but she shakes off anyone who stops to help her, glaring at Nedley when he makes a move to steady her. Ms. Ruthie nods at the empty lawn chair next to her and Linda sits down, relief on her face. Ms. Ruthie rests her hand on Helen Gentile’s, their gold wedding bands clinking together softly.

“How’s Linda doing?” Nicole asks. “She won’t tell me if it hurts.”

“You know,” Cub says, shrugging. “She can tell when it’s going to rain.”

Nicole nods slowly.  “Hey, you hear anything from your dad, lately?” she asks, glancing quickly at Cub out of the corner of her eye.

Cub frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nicole says quickly. “I just… Linda brought him up the other day, and it got me thinking.”

Cub’s face hardeneds, his eyes darkening. “Dad is a funny word, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice flat. “Everyone says, ‘oh, your dad’ and ‘about your dad,’ but he’s not a  _ dad _ . He’s just a guy I’m related to. That doesn’t make him my dad.”

Nicole rests her hand on Cub’s shoulder, squeezing until she feels some of the tension start to fade under her palm. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “For calling him that.” She scoffs, the noise rattling around in her chest. “Trust me when I say that I get it, okay? Sometimes, the people you’re born to are just people, but the ones you surround yourself with are family.”

Cub’s body hitches as he snorts softly. “Sheriff has been more of a  _ dad _ to me,” he mutters.

Nicole grins crookedly, letting her arm stretch across Cub’s shoulders. “He does that, huh? Takes us in and makes us think we can do things we can’t.” She thinks about Curtis, how he did the same thing to her; how Nedley picked up the slack when Curtis was gone.

“He wants me to start thinking about the academy,” Cub admits.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Nicole says.

Cub squints up at her. “You’re going to be the Sheriff soon, aren’t you?”

Nicole shakes her head quickly. “Nedley still has years to go,” she says.

“But after that, it’ll be you?”

Nicole hesitates. It’s what she wants; it’s what Nedley wants. But she tries not to want it  _ too _ much. 

“Maybe,” she says slowly.

Cub studies her for a moment before he shrugs a shoulder. “I guess I could work for you.”

Nicole blinks and shakes her head, poking him hard in the side. “Get out of here, would you? It’s my birthday and you’re being annoying.” She watches him slink across the lawn to the girl he was looking at before and takes a long pull from her Moosehead. 

“Baby,” Waverly says softly from behind her.

Nicole turns, frowning at Rosita as she wipes her hands on an old rag, leaving grease stains on the fabric. “What?”

“I looked, Nicole,” Rosita says carefully. “Your transmission is totally gone. It kind of went…” She pulls her hands apart from each other. “ _ Boom _ .”

Nicole shakes her head. “No,” she says simply.

“Nicole,” Waverly tries.

Nicole continues to shake her head. “I’ll fix it.”

Rosita shrugs her shoulders at Waverly. “I can fix cars. I can’t fix ‘em if they’re dead cars.” She points at Nicole. “And yours? It’s dead.”

Wynonna frowns as she comes closer. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” Nicole snaps.

“Her car,” Waverly tells Wynonna.

Nicole huffs. “Just, can we leave it alone?”

Wynonna stares at her for a moment before turning to Rosita. “Boobs, give it to me straight.”

Rosita ignores the nickname. “Transmission, ruptured. Engine, not running. Car, dead.”

Nicole feels each word in the pit of her stomach, bouncing around inside and making her nauseous. Her beer tastes rancid and warm in her mouth and she pulls the bottle away from her lips, letting her arm hang down. Styx licks at her hand and then runs off, headed towards Nedley.

Wynonna winces at the prognosis. “And there’s no point in resuscitating it?” She rolls her eyes at the surprise on Rosita and Waverly’s face. “Oh, come on. That’s what they did on Baywatch, wasn’t it?” She lowers her voice, muttering out of the side of her mouth. “Just don’t ask me to spell it.”

“No,” Rosita says slowly. “It’s a what? A ‘78?”

“A ‘79,” Nicole says sharply.

“A ‘79,” Rosita repeats. “It’s over 20 years old. The fact that it survived  _ this _ long? It’s practically a mechanical miracle. Now, I’ve been called a god before, but even I can’t make that engine go again.” 

Wynonna nods sharply. “Okay then.” She turns on her heel, leaving the grass under her foot torn, and marches across the lawn and out of sight. 

“The bottom line is,” Rosita continues. “It won’t ever get on the road again with that transmission, and at this point? It’s not worth replacing.” She pauses. “I do know a guy selling some pretty sweet ‘88 Buick Skyhawks,” she says. “Want his number?”

“Sure,” Waverly says quickly. “That’d be great.”

Rosita nods and hooks her thumb over her shoulder. “Lemme grab it from Doc.” 

Waverly’s hands slide over Nicole’s arm, sure and warm. “Nicole,” she says quietly.

Nicole melts into the touch, letting Waverly twist and turn the fabric of her flannel shirt into a knot. It loosens the one in her stomach, just a little, and it makes it easier to breathe.

“I know you love that car,” Waverly says softly, her mouth against Nicole’s shoulder. “But at the end of the day, it’s  _ just _ a car.”

Nicole shakes her head. “It’s… It’s not just a car, Waverly.” She turns, catching Waverly’s hands in her own and pulling them close to her chest. “That car was built the same year I met you.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “We spent all summer riding around so I could mow lawns to get that car. We…” She looks around and lowers her voice. “Our first time was in that car.”

Waverly wiggles her eyebrows. “I didn’t forget.”

“ _ So _ many things happened in that car, Waves. It’d be like…” Nicole sighs. “It’d be like The Patch closing, you know? Our whole lives happened in that diner, and if it ever closed, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Waverly frees her hand and lifts it, brushing some of Nicole’s hair back behind her ear.

“It’s my  _ car _ , Waverly,” Nicole says, her voice hoarse. “It’s the only thing that’s ever really been  _ mine _ .”

Waverly stares at her for a moment, curling her hand around the back of Nicole’s neck. “Not the only thing,” she says quietly. “ _ I’ve _ always been yours.”

Nicole scoffs softly. “For a while, you were anything  _ but _ mine.”

Waverly shakes her head. “No,” she says firmly. “Even then. I was always yours. I never wanted to really be anyone else’s.” She pauses, her lips quirking in a quick smile. “A new car will never replace your Bonneville, baby. Just like…” She trails off.

_ Just like Shae could never replace you, _ Nicole thinks without meaning to.  _ Like Champ could never replace me _ .

Waverly presses up on her tiptoes and her mouth finds Nicole’s. She kisses her softly, pulling away with her eyes closed, a small smile on her face.

Nicole sighs heavily and nods, blinking away the last of the tears lingering in the corner of her eyes. “Okay,” she agrees, her voice rough.

Waverly’s smile widens and she kisses Nicole again, a little harder this time. She winks and unwinds herself from Nicole’s arms, catching Chrissy’s shoulder and following her across the lawn to Perry. Nicole watches them for a moment, smiling as Waverly presses a hand against the swell of Chrissy’s stomach. Nicole put her bets down on a boy, and Waverly thinks its a girl, but Perry doesn’t want to know until the baby is born.

Either way, Nicole has a mixtape that’ll work for a boy or a girl.

Small hands wind around her ankles, and Nicole looks down, fighting a laugh as she watches Alice try and shimmy up her legs. Alice pauses, a frown on her face as she sits down on the top of Nicole’s boots, holding onto her legs.

“Auntie ‘Cole,” she complains. “I can’t do it.”

Nicole squats down, righting Alice as she falls over again. “What are you  _ trying _ to do?”

“Mama said you built like a ta- a tad-” Alice stops and frowns. “She said I climb you.”

Nicole frowns. “She called me a ladder?”

Alice beams up at her. “A tadder.”

“Ladder,” Nicole says absently, glaring around the backyard as she tries to find Wynonna.

“Ladder,” Alice repeats slowly, her mouth working around the sounds. She nods to herself. “Papa said you not a tadder-”

“Ladder.”

“You not a ladder, but you tall.”

Nicole hooks her hands under Alice’s arms and hoists her up onto her hip. Her hair, dark like Doc’s, ends up in Nicole’s face and she bats it away as Alice’s arms wind around her neck. “Your Papa is nicer than your Mama.”

“I know,” Alice says seriously. “But Mama is my favorite.”

Nicole sighs. “She’s one of mine, too. Sometimes I wonder why.”

“Grammy Gus and Auntie Joan want you,” Alice says. She presses a wet kiss to the side of Nicole’s face. “Do I get cake now?”

Nicole laughs, holding Alice tightly as she walks through the party. “I don’t know if there  _ is _ cake.”

“There is,” Alice says firmly. “Auntie ‘Cedes made it.”

Nicole wrinkles her nose. “Then we probably shouldn’t eat it.”

Alice presses her hands to Nicole’s face, her bright blue eyes peering into Nicole’s. “Mama say Aunt ‘Cedes is bad company.”

Nicole snorts. “Your mama is bad company.”

Alice nods, her face serious. “I know.”

Wynonna pops up at her elbow, tweaking Alice’s nose. “Careful, Alice. If Auntie Nicole drops you from up there, you might break your head in two. We’d have to call you The Girl With the Split Head.”

“Original,” Nicole murmurs.

“That’s not my name,” Alice says, lips pulled back in a snarl. “I Alice Cole Holliday.”

Wynonna’s eyes soften just a little, and she smiles crookedly. “Is that so?”

“So,” Alice says firmly.

Wynonna sighs. “Fine. If you insist.” She meets Nicole’s eyes. “She was wearing my old Black Sabbath World Tour ‘78 shirt the other day like a cape, declaring herself  _ Alice Cole Holliday _ in her best Waverly-voice.”

“ _ My _ Black Sabbath World Tour ‘78 shirt,” Nicole corrects. She tickles Alice’s side. “Are you a superhero?”

“I’m He-man,” Alice declares. “And I want cake.”

“Cake after. I have a present for Auntie Nicole.”

Nicole groans. The last present Wynonna got her was Def Leppard’s  _ Hysteria _ on compact disc. It took Waverly, Mercedes, and Doc twenty minutes to calm Nicole down while Wynonna laughed and laid on the floor with Alice, watching music videos on VHS. Nicole had been torn between throwing it out, breaking it in half, or chucking it back at Wynonna. Instead, she tucked it into the back of her cassette closet and tried to forget something like that even existed. 

Wynonna sees her hesitation and grabs her by the arm, pulling her. “You’re gonna love it, trust me.” She stops for a moment, cupping her free hand around her mouth and whistling. “Hey, everyone? Can you all come around the front so I can give Nicole her birthday present?”

People start putting down their drinks, piling into the bottleneck space between the shed and the house. Nicole feels Hayley hook a hand into the pocket of her jeans, holding on as Nicole gets swept up in the crowd and follows. Styx runs around her legs, and she walks carefully so she doesn’t trip over him. Alice slaps her hands down over Nicole’s eyes and she panics for a moment before she feels Wynonna’s hands on her shoulders, guiding her.

The people around her start to murmur and she twists her head, trying to get Alice’s hands off her face. Alice’s hands are slightly sticky, and a little damp, and she grimaces.

“In a minute,” Alice says firmly. “Mama say no.”

“Whoa,” Hayley says.

Nicole frowns. “What is it?” She pauses. “I swear to god, Wynonna, if you got me a compact disc collection, or, or -  _ Or a compact disc player _ , I’ll scream.”

“Oh, can it,” Wynonna says. “Go ahead, Alice.” 

Alice moves her hands too quickly, and Nicole stares straight into the sun. It takes a minute for her eyes to focus, and when she does, her mouth falls open slowly.

Wynonna holds up a boombox. “There  _ is _ a CD player,” she says slowly. “But only because Nedley didn’t have ‘Taps’ on cassette.” She glances at Nedley. “Why he even  _ has _ ‘Taps’ on CD in his car is something else we will discuss at a later date.”

“We will not,” Nedley says firmly, his arms crossed over his chest.

Wynonna ignores him, clearing her throat. “Dearly beloved,” she starts.

“Oh, my god, Wynonna,” Mercedes says from behind Nicole.

“ _ Dearly beloved _ ,” Wynonna says again, louder. “We are gathered here today to lay rest to P-Dubs.”

Nicole’s eyes widen. “Your present is a  _ funeral _ .”

Wynonna glares at her. “It  _ will _ be, if you let me get through it.”

Nicole looks back at her car, sitting in its spot in the driveway where Doc dropped it. Wynonna pulled up half the lawn, sprinkling grass across the front and laying picked dandelions on top of it. She found a candle somewhere, one of the ones Nicole thinks they might have given Ms. Ruthie for Christmas, and lit it, setting it on the hood of the car where an ornament might be. 

Wynonna clears her throat again. “Now, if I can proceed.” She waits for any kind of protest, but Nicole is still staring at her car-turned-shrine. “Good.” Wynonna smiles tightly. “We are gathered here today to lay P-Dubs to rest. This car, crafted to be an American dream, was a Canadian nightmare.”

“Hey,” Nicole protests.

“Nicole wouldn’t let me put my feet on your dash or my tapes in your deck, but you got me to school nearly every day of senior year, and for that, I thank you for your service.” Wynonna nods sharply, stepping forward and resting her hand on the sideview mirror. “Rest easy, P-Dubs.”

Alice digs a finger into Nicole’s ear and Nicole winces.

Dolls steps forward. “To the car that helped me train for my boxing match.”

“He’s the Country Club Boxing Champion,” Jeremy adds.

“To the car that got me to and from hospital appointments,” Nathan adds, moving towards the car.

“I knew about you first,” Mercedes says. “I did,” she defends when Wynonna scowls at her. “The night I laid one on our illustrious Deputy Sheriff.” She winks at Nicole.

“Id-us-truss,” Alice repeats.

Doc clears his throat. “To the car that carried my daughter home from the hospital when I was too nervous to do it myself.” He lifts the can in his hand and tips it towards the car.

Styx lays down at Nicole’s feet, his muzzle buried under his paw.

Waverly moves forward next, resting her hand on the hood of the car. “I had my first date in this car,” she says wistfully.

“And your first-  _ Oof _ ,” Wynonna says, wincing. She glares at Doc. 

Doc smiles brightly at Waverly and gestures for her to continue. 

“I fell even more in love in this car, sitting next to you,” Waverly says, looking at Nicole. She holds her soda can up. “To the best damn car in Purgatory.”

“ _ To the best damn car in Purgatory _ ,” everyone echoes. 

Wynonna presses ‘play’ on the CD player, and Nicole winces when a sharp bugle sounds loudly.

“To Pussy Wagon,” Wynonna says over the bugler. 

There’s a long pause before Gus shouts. “ _ That’s  _ what ‘P-Dubs’ stands for?”

 

-

Nicole waves goodbye as her mom follows Gus down the driveway, walking to their cars a street over. She leans back against Waverly, Alice asleep and heavy in her arms. She hasn’t put her down for a few hours and her arms are jelly-numb at this point, but Alice has a hand in her hair and she won’t let go. She got fussy as the day dragged on, only settling when Nicole sang Guns N’ Roses’ “Patience” for her as she rocked back and forth.

She hears the hinges of her car door groan and turns slowly, careful not to drop Alice, to frown at Wynonna. “ _ Now _ what’re you doing?” she asks.

Wynonna lazily flips her off, eyes narrowed and focused on the car. She looks up after a minute, her hands on her hips. “You know, I organized this surprise party for you. You should be a little more grateful.”

“You put on a funeral for my car,” Nicole says flatly.

“Well, that wasn’t part of the original plan,” Wynonna admits. “But it ended up being more memorable than playing ‘pin-the-tail-on-Nedley’ at least.”

Nicole snorts softly. “I would have liked to see you try.”

“It would have been the best birthday present you ever got,” Wynonna says wistfully. She claps her hands together, wincing when Alice shifts a little in Nicole’s arms. “Anyway, Rosita and Doc said they get can get this backseat out of the car, and then you can put it in your shed.”

Nicole frowns. “My shed?” She hoists Alice up a little higher and holds her breath as she groans and nuzzles further into Nicole’s neck.

Wynonna flinches and her eyes skip past Nicole.

“You’re taking my car apart for my shed?” Nicole asks again.

“You’re the worst,” Waverly says from behind Nicole.

Nicole turns slowly, mouth open in protest.

“Not you,” Waverly says quickly. “I love you.”

Nicole feels her shoulders soften and she smiles. “I love you, too.”

“ _ You _ ,” Waverly says sharply, jabbing her finger in Wynonna’s direction. “I told you  _ not _ to mention the shed.”

Wynonna looks down at the ground, scuffing her boot against the driveway. “I forgot she didn’t know.” She looks up at Nicole. “It’ll be great. Trust me.”

“That’s a dangerous sentence,” Nicole mutters. She nods, though, because now that she’s had a few beers and ran a few laps with the kids and Styx, she’s accepted that her car lived a good life and now it deserves to go on to a better place.

_ The shed _ , apparently.

Waverly sighs, a hand reaching up to brush some dark hair out of Alice’s face. “My present to you,” she says softly.

Nicole cranes her neck a little, making sure Alice really is asleep. “You already gave me your present. The watch, and then…” she reminds Waverly. “You know… This morning?”

Wynonna makes gagging noises as she opens the passenger door on the Bonneville.

Nicole feels her face flush, but she ignores Wynonna. “I don’t need anything, baby.”

“Well,” Waverly says slowly. “ _ I _ need something.”

Nicole’s eyes widen. “You, uh…” She spares a glance at Wynonna, leaning over into the Bonneville and tugging on the seats. “I’m a little, uh…” She looks down at Alice.

Waverly frowns. “What’re you-  _ Oh _ .” She makes a face. “I didn’t mean  _ sex _ .”

Nicole coughs loudly, Alice stirring in her arms. 

“Auntie ‘Cole?” she asks.

“Go back to sleep, Cool Rider,” Nicole says softly. She starts to sway back and forth again, and Alice’s eyes flutter closed.

Nathan walks past her, Hayley dozing in his arms. Her red hair is everywhere and her skin is blistering at the tops where her tanktop straps are. She had crawled into Nathan’s lap an hour ago when they were still out back, finishing the last of the beers, and told Nathan she was ‘sun-drunk’ because she couldn’t be ‘Crush-drunk’ like Auntie Chrissy. Mercedes reaches her arms out, gesturing for Alice.

“She’s spending the night,” Mercedes says quietly.

Nicole passes her over, Alice blinking sleepily in confusion before she realizes Mercedes has her. She buries her hand in Mercedes’s hair and settles down again.

“Happy birthday, Loverboy,” Mercedes says, winking.

“Happy birthday, little sister,” Nathan echoes.

Nicole stretches her arms high above her head, letting her stiff muscles pop. She drapes an arm across Waverly’s shoulders, and smiles when she feels Waverly lean into her side. 

Jeremy and Dolls follow after them, their hands laced and swinging between their bodies. Jeremy looks back over his shoulder and waves. Nicole smiles widely and nods, her body pitching forward when Perry stumbles up behind her and claps her hard on the shoulder. He smiles, just a second too late, and Nicole steadies him, frowning.

Chrissy rolls her eyes. “Someone got a little  _ too _ competitive with Rosita,” she explains.

Nicole snorts. “He tried to beat her again?”

“You’d think my husband, with his big brain, would realize that he  _ can’t _ drink Rosita under the table,” Chrissy says with a sigh.

“Almost had her this-” Perry hiccups. “This time.”

“Sure you did, honey,” Chrissy says gently.

Rosita swaggers up beside them, grinning proudly. “Next time, Pretty Perry.”

“Next time,” Perry promises, pointing at Rosita. He misses, his hand aimed towards the house instead.

“Come on, son,” Nedley says gruffly as he grabs Perry’s arm, steering him around towards the end of the driveway. “Let’s get you home.”

Chrissy leans in and presses a kiss to Nicole’s cheek, squeezing Waverly’s arm gently. “Night, you two.”

“Night,” Waverly says, smiling brightly. She rests her hand on Chrissy’s stomach. “Goodnight, little one.”

Chrissy starts down the driveway, throwing her hand up in the air. “Dad, come on. Not the perp walk again.”

Nicole laughs. “It’s not a-”

“It’s not a perp walk,” Perry says, cutting her off. His words lilt up and down in pitch as he speaks. “He’s just-” He hiccups again. “Helping me home.”

Nedley snorts. “More like carrying you, in a minute.”

Perry narrows his eyes, moving around until he’s holding Nedley at arm’s length. “I don’t think you’d be gentle with me,” he accuses.

Nedley pulls Perry back in again, tucking him under his arm. “Son, do me a favor? Don’t say anything either of us will regret come morning.”

Perry salutes sloppily, and they turn the corner at the end of the driveway, stumbling off down the street. Chrissy and Rosita follow behind him, arms linked. Doc nods at them as he passes them, coming back up the driveway and pausing at the car. He’s holding the socket set Nicole had seen under his seat in the tow truck earlier and he opens it, spreading it out on the hood. 

“Your present,” Waverly says, clapping her hands excitedly. She reaches for Nicole’s hand, their fingers lacing tightly as lightly swings them back and forth. “Do you want to see it now, or after?”

Nicole winces as Wynonna pulls at the seat fabric of the backseat again. “Now,” she says, unsure if she can watch Doc dismantle her car - even if he knows what he’s doing and definitely won’t let Wynonna touch a tool.

Waverly grins and bounces on the tips of her toes, tugging Nicole towards the shed. Nicole isn’t sure what Waverly’s surprise could be.

“Close your eyes,” Waverly instructs.

Nicole closes them slowly, starting to get nervous. She can feel Waverly bump against her and she walks forward, her feet moving over the grass and then against the concrete pad the shed sits on.

“Open them,” Waverly whispers.

Nicole’s feels her mouth drop as she looks around. The shed, which used to be filled with old lawn care equipment and a few boxes they never unpacked, and home to too many bugs, is practically spotless now. There’s Christmas lights lining the ceiling and around a big mirror on the far wall. The closest wall is filled with shelves, floor to not-so-high ceiling, and all her cassettes have been moved and restocked in alphabetical order. There’s a 1987 SONY TC-AV1 stereo system - the same one Nicole remembers wishing she could afford back when she was in high school - on the workbench Nicole never used. A compact refrigerator is in the corner, humming quietly. 

“This is… This is for me?” Nicole asks.

Waverly nods. “I know you’ve been stressed out lately, with the Highway 63 thing and trying to run so many community committees. You’ve been helping Gus out, too, and babysitting, and I just want to make sure you have time for  _ you _ .”

“I do,” Nicole promises. “I spend it with you.”

Waverly ducks her head. “And I love that. But I know there are times when you just want to get away and listen to some music and not have me go on and on about the Red River Resistance. So Wynonna helped me set this up for you. We moved all your tapes down and there’s some beer in the refrigerator and a bed for Styx,” she says, pointing to the corner. “And it’s all yours.”

Nicole looks around again, shaking her head slowly.

“I had a couch in here, but Wynonna told us to move it so we could use the seat of your car,” Waverly explains.

“That’s why Ms. Ruthie and Helen cornered me when I took Alice inside to change her?” Nicole asks. The women had demanded information about pet licensing, even though they wouldn’t admit to actually wanting a pet.

Waverly winces. “Guilty.”

Nicole’s snorts softly as she leans in. “Lemme charge you, then.”

She leans in and kisses Waverly, nipping at her bottom lip gently before her tongue soothes the sting. Waverly’s hands wind through her hair and she slides her own down Waverly’s sides, resting them on her hips. She squeezes softly, backing Waverly up a step towards the workbench.

There’s an almighty groan from outside the doors - the scrape of metal against metal - and then Wynonna is whooping too loudly for this time of night, shouting Nicole’s name.

Nicole opens the door to the shed, and it takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness. The overhead safety light on the side of the house shines down on her Bonneville. She can hear the creak of a screen door, and then Ms. Ruthie is poking her head out of her back door.

“Everything okay?”

Nicole waves at her. “Everything is fine, Ms. Ruthie,” Nicole assures her. “Say goodnight to Helen, would you?”

“Goodnight, Nicole!” Helen’s voice comes, drifting out of the house.

Nicole turns to Wynonna, but Wynonna is looking excitedly at the car and the backseat sitting in the driveway.

“Look!” Wynonna shouts. “We did it!”

Doc wipes his hands on his shirt. “We most certainly did,” he says proudly. He takes his hat off and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I will admit, I was unsure at first. But here she is.” He grins up at her. “Happy Birthday.”

Nicole rolls her eyes and steps forward, running her hand over the leather. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Wynonna smacks Doc on the back. “Well, come on, cowboy. Let’s put this sucker into the shed.” She nods at one side of it and waits until Doc has a good grip and then the seat is in the air, through the shed doors and down on the concrete pad. 

Waverly grins and sits down on it, sighing. “It’s almost like the real thing.”

“It  _ is _ the real thing,” Nicole points out.

“You know what I mean,” Waverly says dismissively. She pats the space next to her. “Sit.”

Nicole perches on the edge of the seat gingerly, shiting her weight to make sure it won’t topple over. Waverly rests her hand at the back of Nicole’s neck, twisting a few strands of hair over and over. 

Nicole nods towards the small, compact refrigerator running in the corner.  “Stay for a beer?” she asks Wynonna.

“Oh, no can do,” Wynonna says as Doc opens his mouth. “We’re going to go have sex.”

Doc’s cheeks burn pink in the soft shed lighting. “Darling, I do not-”

“Loud sex,” Wynonna continues. “The kind you can have when your three-year-old doesn’t have the ears of a doberman.”

Doc coughs loudly and nods towards the door, letting himself back out of the shed.

Wynonna lowers her voice to a scandalized whisper. “We’re not even going to turn the lights off.”

Nicole laughs, ducking away from Wynonna’s hand when it darts out to slap her. “What would fifteen-year-old Wynonna say about this, huh?”

Wynonna sighs and leans her hip against the small workbench Waverly transformed into a stereo shelf. “She’d probably be pissed,” Wynonna admits. “That thirty-year-old Wynonna got suckered into suburban life.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “What kind of suburban life involves a motorcycle?”

Wynonna’s eyes soften like they do when she thinks about the custom 2000 Harley Davidson Softail Deuce Doc got her for birthday.

Nicole pushes off the bench seat and hooks an arm around Wynonna’s neck, pulling her close. “Fifteen-year-old Wynonna would be pretty impressed with you.”

“Even if I put Alice’s diaper on backwards this morning?” Wynonna asks quietly.

“Even then,” Nicole promises.

Wynonna smiles crookedly. “What about you? Would fifteen-year-old Nicole be impressed with you?”

Nicole looks back over her shoulder at Waverly and feels something warm spread through her chest, settling comfortably in the pit of her stomach. It replaces the dread of this morning - the heavy sinking feeling that came with the last cough of her engine. 

Her car died today, but the memories she made in it won’t ever go away. 

“Yeah, I think so,” she says quietly.

“Let’s see,” Wynonna says, lifting a hand to start counting things off. “You’re Five-O. Not only that, but you’re, like, hot shit Five-O. You’ve got the best cassette collection I’ve ever seen, besides Mattie. And you got the girl.”

“I got the girl,” Nicole repeats, grinning.

Wynonna looks at her, eyes narrowing. “Oh, god. You’re going to do it again, aren’t you?”

Nicole’s smile widens. “Do what?”

Wynonna sighs heavily and throws an arm up in defeat. “Just make it quick.”

“You’re still my best friend,” Nicole says dutifully. “And I love you.”

“I love you too, dweeb,” Wynonna grumbles.

Nicole leans an ear down. “What was that?”

Wynonna sticks a finger in her face. “Don’t get smart. I’m impervious to your charms.”

“Impervious,” Nicole repeats. “I’m impressed.” 

Wynonna shrugs a shoulder. “TV shows these days. They say the weirdest things.” She walks towards the shed doors, pausing before she leaves. “Happy Birthday, Nicole.”

“Thanks,” Nicole breathes as Wynonna disappears around the door. She turns back 

“How did she become a grownup?” Nicole asks, blinking back the burn in her eyes.

“We did good,” Waverly says proudly. “Now, pick a tape and sit down with me. There’s still a few hours left of your birthday and we can do whatever you want.”

She scans the long shelves of tapes, eyes zeroing in on the ‘D’ section. She picks Def Leppard’s  _ Hysteria _ , for old time’s sake, and pops it into the Sony, closing the stereo with a satisfying  _ snap _ .

“Right now,” she says. “I just want to sit with you. Is that okay?”

Waverly smiles softly. “Of course it is, baby.”

Nicole sinks back against the seat, her arm stretched out along the top of the bench. Waverly leans into her side, her legs up underneath her. If she closes her eyes, she can imagine the wind in her hair and the engine buzzing under her feet.  _ Hysteria _ is on the stereo and Waverly’s hand is curling over the denim covering her knee. She feels Waverly’s mouth at her jaw, a quick kiss and then Waverly is tucking her head against Nicole’s shoulder, humming along softly to “Women” playing. 

_ Maybe _ , Nicole thinks.  _ Maybe it’s not the worst birthday after all.  _


End file.
